


Human

by TessMooreXF



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TessMooreXF/pseuds/TessMooreXF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something so profound about seeing a parent, and someone you highly admire, in actual light for the first time. As a human being.</p><p>**Finally coming back to this - This will be an ongoing series of vignettes, featuring the events of 2012, William, and some unexplored back story. Stay tuned!**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Human Admissions (Bill)

 

I'm not a fan of West Virginia. This is the first I've been, and it will be the last. Everything was just fine until I got lost. Then, the gray trees and icy roads decided to haunt me like a son of a bitch while I tried to change out a flat tire in evening light. There's so much damn snow... no human being could have seen that rock. Now, morning again, and after a very mediocre night spent in a hotel and honky-tonk, I'm on my way again. Who knew there were honky-tonks in West Virginia? The bright afternoon sun beats against the snow, but still cannot melt it. The overwhelming reflection causes me to squint from behind my sunglasses. 

What is it that she likes about this place? Make no mistake, I've never understood her or tried to, but that doesn't mean I don't stop to wonder. When we were growing up, I never told Dana that I thought we were really the same. I was a teenage boy - handing out potential compliments to my little sister wasn't in any way cool. Therefore, they remained in my head. Now, I still think we're basically the same. I've still never told her. Our similarities were always blanketed by our mutual obstinacy, and my admitted need to always be superior. A man who's seen his 50th birthday can admit to these sorts of things.

I remember the year Dana brought some smart-ass FBI instructor home for Christmas. It was shocking - the darling of the Scully family dragging a man nearly twice her age to a family gathering, tainted by his bad attitude and thinning hair. I could see the quiet upset in my father's eyes while he watched the two of them together. There was a certain sadness. I'll never know what Dana was thinking. I still don't know what Dad said to her later that night, but Dana snuck out quietly, refusing to open Christmas gifts with the family that year. I remember that Mom didn't speak to Dad more than necessary that Christmas, either. 

I made certain that no one knew, but that I year I met a gorgeous Psychology professor who worked near base. We met at a bowling alley bar, of all places. It was long before Tara was even a blip on the radar. Her name was Claudia, and she was the very definition of the 'handsome woman', with her well-set dark hair, classic features and tailored clothing. I took her out a handful of times, but we spent more time in bed than out. She was fifteen years older than I was. She was too kind to say it, but she was using me, and there was no reason to make a public fuss over it. I was a young, overworked sailor -- no one heard me complaining while her long, spidery legs wrapped around my hips. 

While I made love to that glorious woman, I think saw what Dana saw. Her worldliness and surety in her own skin were the most attractive things about Claudia. I wondered what Dad would think if I brought her home. In the back of my mind, I was certain I wouldn't have received the same dressing-down Dana had. Patriarch Scully would have simply said it was a 'phase'. I would grow out of it. Sex without marriage is ok for a boy, especially with such an esteemed woman. Sex with the Captain's little girl before marriage would never be ok - the cards were stacked high and unfairly, regardless of the player. 

In a way, I'm glad Dad died before he could ever meet Fox Mulder.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Funny thing about Dana, she never really understood the affect she had on men. As her brother, it feels fundamentally wrong for me to think this, but my sister always had a way with men. She was always a little too smart for them - it kept them from asking her out. But, she was the perfect picture of a future wife, with a mysterious look and rare red hair. The curiosity was there, and many a friend of mine had asked. I would glower and flex, declare that my sister was off limits to the bastard. It was my job, and I took it very seriously. I always thought Dana had more to do than marry a man.

One year, right after she joined the FBI, a high school friend of mine got back in contact with me. He asked about Dana, what she was up to. I was sold by his sincerity, his telling me that he'd always liked her in school, and that he was intrigued by her turn with the FBI. So sue me, I gave him her number, then called Dana to give her some fair warning. 

As expected, I got my ass handed to me by my little sister over the phone. It was the first time adult Dana had told me with all certainty that I was an asshole. And I was -- I should have called her and asked first. And so it began; The annoying brother Bill had morphed into the man who couldn't do anything right; Whose motives were always a little suspect. I regret not being more accepting of my sister. I would rather die than tell her that to her face, but it's the truth. 

A couple months after that fight, I was denied a promotion in rank. I almost cried when Dad found out. Sitting in his study, head slung low, and with a feeling that I was about to be whipped and left for dead, I told him the entire story - just barely, and surprisingly, without puking my guts out. My father was a hard man when it came to his profession. First and foremost, he was a groomer of good sailors. He would tell me that time and again growing up, reminding me of what it meant to make a commitment to my country. I was sick at the thought of my set-back.

He silenced me gently, and I listened in utter shock while he told me of his own set-backs. He, very quietly, reminded me that failure was a part of life, and that all I could do was keep my eye on the goal. I think I grew up a little that night. There's something so profound about seeing a parent, and someone you highly admire, in actual light for the first time. As a human being. 

That year, Dana didn't make it to Easter dinner. She was busy with an important autopsy. I don't remember anything about it anymore, but I remember my stomach rolling at the realization of what my baby sister did for a living. Her absence was felt at dinner, her chair sad and empty in the corner of the over sized table. Dad would stop eating every now and again, looking to the chair as though he'd meant to ask Dana a question. He missed her more than he cared to explain. I watched while Mom's hand snuck across the table. She caressed his arm with such love. He smiled back at her, silently expressing his thanks. 

 

\----------------------------------

 

I pull up to the unremarkable gate, tethered with a simple hook. There's only one 'No Tresspassing' sign, and it strikes me as a little funny. Paranoia is a staple in the Scully-Mulder household. I'd always figured that Dana would live somewhere like a compound. It would be her home, but only after it was hidden behind large fences, barbed wire, volts of electricity. Maybe 10 signs declaring 'Private Property!', 'Beware of Dog!'. Instead, the entrance to her home is a simple ranch-style fence that any person willing could open. 

My car very nearly doesn't make the slog to her house, though. The driveway is hundreds of yards long, the house not even visible from the main road. It's unplowed, and I feel the wheels of my vehicle fighting to remain on even ground. When I make it to the house, I'm greeted by a very plain wrap-around style home with two very plain sedans parked out front. I think the house might have been yellow at one time, but it's now grayed and aged. I can't say how, but the house is fitting for my sister. It looks like something she would go for - she always did have a penchant for strays and charlie-brown trees. 

"Bill?" She comes out of the house, moving fast. Her brow is furrowed in concern, maybe a little confusion. I didn't call before I came. I only asked Mom for the address, but refused to tell her why I needed it.

Its been close to a decade since I've seen Dana. Hermitted in her little house in West Virginia, she makes it to family outings very rarely. Mom told me a harrowing story about Mulder, how he'd hidden in that house for years, under penalty of death had he'd been found. How he was made a free man by a shafty deal with the FBI. A friend in high places confirmed as much for me. More importantly, my friend could confirm that Mulder was, in fact, an innocent man. 

In her long, messy hair and weekend clothing, she looks like Melissa. With her flighty idealism and new-age approach, Melissa had never quite measured up in Dad's mind, but there was no doubt about it - She had completed Dana in a way that I don't think either woman really understood. She'd always forced Dana to experience life instead of examining it. My closest sibling in age, Melissa was a source of comfort for me, too. Fleeting memories of high school waft through my mind when I think of Missy; a time before any of us had to worry about the pitfalls of life, with its various conspiracies and tragedies. I miss my closest sister, and I miss the Dana that Melissa made. 

As she comes closer, I can see her face more clearly. Dana was always a little more porcelain, frecklier, and with more intensity in her eyes. I can see the years in her face, now more defined and with worry lines that weren't there before. Suddenly, I find myself wishing I'd made more of an effort to see her. 

"Bill..." She doesn't hesitate before reaching out to me for a hug, and it surprises me. While I hug her back, time melts away a bit. She feels just as she did the last time I hugged her, a tiny ball of energy, tethered to me in the most fundamental way one can be. "What are you doing here?" 

"I needed to talk to you, Dana." She looks bewildered when I speak. "I have information for you. Is Mulder home?" 

"No... He's attending to some business." She's suspicious. I can't blame her. I got the same look from Mom when I asked for the address.

"That's ok -- I would rather talk to you alone. Can we go inside?" I'm freezing, though she seems perfectly comfortable in her light sweater and shirt. She turns and walks back to the house without preamble, and it's something like old times again. 

 

\-------------------------------

 

It's dark by the time I get on the road again, Dana's shocked face still frozen in my mind. It's time to help my sister, I know it is, and my heart beats nervously in my chest. I know the danger I've placed on myself, and Dana. I feel the guilt settle into me when I think of how I used to ridicule her. Her work was never important in my eyes, after I first heard the rumors. Rumors meant a lot to me, and there were plenty of them. Rumors that my genius little sister wasted her career chasing aliens with a lunatic. And how could he be not be a lunatic for the number of times he'd nearly gotten my sister killed? Or the time he did get my other sister killed? 

In my office at sea, I was a powerful man, drunk on it. I was ready to lord that power over all I saw fit to. I was ready to not only walk in my father's footsteps, but to BE him. He didn't approve of Dana's choices, and I found myself slowly deciding that it was my job to take over my father's disapproval. Looking back, I don't know what the hell I was thinking. 

Dana first told everyone about her plans to join the FBI at a family dinner. Every week, we had dinner on Sunday - it was the ritual, with everyone out of the house except Charlie. I didn't always make it, but I tried. She said it so simply that night. "I've decided I'll be entering the FBI Academy in August." 

It was as though she was announcing tea. I dropped my fork and stared at her in confoundment. I thought it might have been a joke, her placid face denoting no passion or fear. She'd seen the reaction coming, I'm sure. Dad raged silently at her from across the table. I could see that he would have plenty to say later - he always preferred to air his grievances from the comfort and privacy of his study, where he could watch from the big chair, behind his big desk. Thank God he was never into spanking.

I tried not to eavesdrop, but the heated debate was too much to handle as it floated from that very same study later that night. I heard wisps of Dana's frustrated tears while Dad told her he didn't spend money on Medical School only to throw it away at the FBI. He insisted that she would be killed. He said something terrible: 

"Dana, God Damnit! You're going to get yourself killed, and waste everything!" 

I gasped a bit. I knew he didn't mean it the way it sounded, but an angry young person could only help but to hear the accusation: If you die, my money will be wasted. Instead of simpering like a teenager, Dana stomped out of the study with her dignity in tact. It was January. Dad would continue to harp on her until August, when it was made real - Dana was going to be an FBI agent. Sunday meals at the Scully house had become tense and, sometimes, angry. 

I should have said more to Dad; told him how I felt. I was as put-down as Dana was by his behavior. Did he only approve of my career because it was his own? Was he only happy when his children did exactly what he expected of them? More importantly, I wondered what that said about me. 

That June, I was wandering around town on an off-base day. I happened across a pawn shop and thought I would take a look around. I've always appreciated a bargain. I meandered through shelves of clothing, shoes, and jewelry, not terribly impressed. On my way out, my eye was caught by a flash of silver just behind the gun counter. 

Sitting in a case of its own was a little hand pistol, simple save for its engraved butt and pristine, shiny barrel. It was a swift-shooter style, small and sly. It was strangely pretty. It looked more like Dana than anything I'd ever seen. I paid for it without haggle and drove three hours to see her. 

"Fuck Dad, Dana..." I handed her the wrapped box and watched in glee while she took in the simple beauty of the weapon. "I'm proud of you." 

And it's in the same spirit that I drove to West Virginia to deliver a simple yellow envelope. What's the use of friends in high places if they can't help? What's the use of being a woman's brother if I can't do something to help her? 

I've been coordinating the efforts for months. One night, a friend at the DOD put a bug in my ear about colonization efforts. I called bullshit on him, only to end up listening to a rant the size of the Grand Canyon. The rant began to make an odd sort of sense. Everything Fox Mulder had ever worked for was worthy if it might someday save my Children. It all started with a little boy living in the middle of nowhere with two unsuspecting, foolish parents. 

I felt pride swell in my chest while I watched Dana read the paperwork. A location for this supposedly normal little boy, and reports about all the extraordinary people who quietly watch him from above, from the side, from cameras, while at school. The plan to make sure that boy disappears at just the right moment. That is, unless someone is to intervene. 

I smile as I slip a little on a particularly icy patch of road. Thank God this shit-forsaken state is practically deserted. I decide I need to stop for a good night's sleep and a drink in the next town before I catch my flight home.

Its January, 2012, and we all have a lot of work to do.

 


	2. Human Longings (Mulder)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time I laid her back against cool, crisp sheets, I saw a lifetime ahead of me instead of behind me.

She doesn't answer me immediately when I find her in the kitchen. It scares me. Her face is turned down into the palms of her hands, her hair pouring onto the oaken table top. I can see just a few papers peeking out from the red mop, but the light in the kitchen is dim, with only the over-oven light turned on. I stumble to put the few bags of groceries with me down on the stove top, then flick on the overhead light. Her eyes snap to me when the light floods the room, and I struggle to see whether she's been crying. Her eyes are undoubtedly red-rimmed, but her face remains impassive. I can see her thinking something through. 

The file folder comes into view when she lifts her head, and she notices me shifting my gaze between it and her face like an anxious dog. I can't help it. Without asking further, I seat myself beside her and wait. My coat is still on, and I can feel sweat forming on my back, but I don't risk interrupting her by removing it. 

"Bill was here." She says it simply; as though Bill lives just down the street. As though Bill might have cause to 'pop in'. 

"What?" I whisper. "Your brother?" 

She nods and looks back down at the open file. She sighs heavily before handing it to me. 

My hands shake and my lungs dispel all air when I catch a glimpse of the handsome child. He looks to be about ten years old. His dark hair and blue eyes are so obviously us, his smile like her and his nose, rather unfortunately, like me. I almost shut the file folder immediately. I almost walk out to the deck for air.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

The first night I kissed Special Agent Dana Scully, it was beneath a sheet of stars, amidst wind and flying leaves, on a suburban baseball field. I'd been drunk on the feel of her hips while I attempted to give her a batting lesson, the sound of her laugh, the tickle of her hair. It was a bad year, and while sitting on chilled rec-center grass, I managed to make it infinitely more complicated. See, a man had just told me the most charming story. A story about the strength of love, and its ability to change a man in the most fundamental way. Over a greasy hot dog, Arthur Dales' brother Arthur had convinced me of what I was missing so completely. 

We parted that night, smiling and timid. We never discussed the kiss again. We were on the mend, closing wounds left by Diana Fowley and the many other forces that had contributed to the near-demise of our partnership. Wounds we'd managed to give each other. Time was essential to that healing. I watched her walk to her car, her black coat swaying in the wind and a little something special in her step. It may have been a bad year, but that was one damn good night of baseball. 

The next day, she smiled at me from the other side of the desk. It was a gentle, knowing smile, her sweet little laugh lines crinkling in a most lovely way. She didn't need to say anything - the journey had shifted. The goal had changed. Two weeks later, she let me kiss her in the office. It was with the door carefully buttoned closed and with her back to the filing cabinets. My hands snaked around her waist, and I could feel my knuckles digging into the filing cabinet handles. I didn't care, my arms filled with precious cargo and an overwhelming contentment. Hands didn't need to tangle into hair, and clothing wasn't dispelled, moved, or wrinkled. Instead, I drank her in by the lips only. She looked up at me with a tenderness I hadn't seen from a lover before, her eyes large and welcoming. The gold rings hugging her pupils seemed to shimmer especially brightly in her otherwise sea-blue irises. It was stunning - the moment, and her eyes. 

The first time I laid her back against cool, crisp sheets, I saw a lifetime ahead of me instead of behind me. Saying goodbye to my father, my mother, and finally laying to rest the idea of my sister coming back to me... I feared that I'd stepped off the precipice. I was no longer someone's son. I was no longer someone's brother. With a certain quiet gentility, she woke me in the middle of a sound sleep. I'd left her on the couch, after giving her a fair amount of wonder filled gazing. There was something endearing about the way her hair fell across her face when she slept. The way she smiled a bit and licked her lips every so often, sighing in dreamy contentment. I drank my fill, then made my way to my bed. 

Her tap on my shoulder didn't particularly surprise me. She wouldn't want me to worry if I woke and found her gone. I was surprised with the sight that greeted me when I opened my eyes, though. The light poured in through the slatted blinds in the window, striping her exposed skin in a most bewitching way. Her bra and underwear were still firmly attached, as though she needed a back-up plan. If I didn't approve or understand, she could beat a hasty retreat. I watched while she tucked her hair behind her ear, wondering if she'd made a terrible mistake. I grazed her exposed hip with my fingertips and said the only thing I could think of. 

"I want you so badly." 

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

I said those words to her while she was pregnant, too. It had been a night of quiet understanding, me listening for the first time since I'd returned. I had convinced myself that I was listening from the moment I woke from the dead. In fact, I was doing a fantastic job of listening to myself, all the while missing the things she said to me every day with her usual subtlety. Why had I thought she'd change just because I had? In truth, she was there, buried beneath a growing baby and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - Just like I'd been waiting for her under the ground, in a curiously semi-permanent grave. Just waiting for someone to help us find a way out and a way back. 

The understanding began its growth with a few reluctant back-rubs. I couldn't explain why I was scared to touch her, because I didn't know why. I still don't know why, but I was petrified. She was the proverbial elephant in the room - and it's impossible to discuss the elephant in the room WITH the elephant. The night that we reached the pinnacle of that slow understanding, I said that very thing to her - probably, not so eloquently. She'd scoffed at me and accused me of calling her fat. It was refreshing, real, and actually funny - I couldn't remember the last time I'd thought something was actually funny. I pulled her onto my lap and joked with her that she should take care not to crush me. 

She'd begun to sniffle, and looked at me with such earnest, wet eyes. However, for the first time since my return, I could see that they were tears of joy. No astonishment, fear, rage, or that seemingly bottomless sadness that had fallen upon her. She looked simply happy, wiped free of makeup, and her terry cloth robe hanging on for dear life around the growing bulge of her midsection. I placed my hands on the child, fully aware the unending and profound connection between us. How had I allowed myself to become so distracted? How had we made it to this point? 

I watched her in wonder while she untied the sash of the robe, still sniffling while she bared her body to me. It was a new, wondrous landscape, full of curiosities and new beauties, mixed in with the very attributes that I will always recall as being unmistakably hers. So, I said it again. 

"I want you." 

\----------------------------------------------

 

"How did your brother get caught up in this?" I ask her casually, well aware that I won't win any points by playing the accuser. I only wish I'd been here to speak with Bill myself; to get a read on him and a feel for the situation. Could he be pulling one over on us? Christ, he certainly hasn't made an effort to show his face around here before. 

"He has a friend. A source. He says the man is reliable and on our side of the issue." She won't look me in the eye. She knows what I'm thinking, but she's not willing to start an argument over it. Yet. 

I can't help myself. I scoff. "A shadowy government type who can't possibly be misleading him? We've been down this road before, Scully." 

"Yes, we have." She nods, and I can see the 'but' on her lips. "It's gone badly before. It's worked well at times." 

"I'm calling Skinner. I want his resources on this." I move to retrieve my cell phone from my pocket. 

Scully fixes me with a steely, determined gaze. "I think that's a good idea.... But you know I have to see him, right? I can't just forget about this... No matter how much you dislike my brother." 

I set my phone on the table and walk to her chair. My hands rest on her shoulders while I stand behind her, caressing and massaging. "I told you to never give up on a miracle, Scully. I still believe in the miracle... I just want to know that we're still looking at the same miracle." 

Her hand comes to pat mine on her shoulder. "I know."


End file.
